<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Stay by jo2ukes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221507">Stay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes'>jo2ukes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Verdant Wind AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, ah the joys of Academy flings that you didn't think would go anywhere, and yet post-relationship all at the same time, headcanon heavy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:15:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While murder and assassination are the fastest way to solve problems, Hubert has always been good at talking. His heart screams that he doesn’t have time for diplomacy, but in his mind he knows it may be their only chance. Dedue’s injuries are very real, very pressing concerns. Losing all the gold they’ve managed to take will hurt, losing Ystrid will be unfortunate as well... losing Dedue is the only possibility that’s entirely unthinkable. He cannot continue the assault on Kleiman on his own and would certainly lose all drive to do so without him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Basically just a self-indulgent rehash/re-imagining of That One Scene from Ever After (1995) with Drew Barrymore)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dedue Molinaro/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Verdant Wind AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Special thanks to NorthSong for beta'ing! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hubert walks at a leisurely pace beside Dedue,  thumbing through the letters he’s stolen from the body of the Kleiman messenger with what remains of daylight. The air between them is filled with a comfortable silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an odd satisfaction that comes with reading messages intended for someone else’s eyes. These particular letters make him feel somewhat pleased, all things considered. Their work seemed slow-going at first- small scale attacks, simple assassinations and robberies, careful attempts to gather damning information- anything that can be done to put a dent in Kleiman’s hold on the territory. There’s certainly nothing as grand and large scale as the battles and missions from the war, yet, their small efforts finally seem to be making a difference. Kleiman is breaking. Nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though he knows better than to let a few victories go to his head, Hubert finds his thoughts uncontrollable as of late. It is odd to think of a future beyond what they’re doing now. Too many unknowns to account for. More so, he’s surprised at finding himself looking forward to the banality of peace when war and hidden acts of cruelty are really all he knows. Yet, things have been relatively easy for the two of them thus far- taking advantage of the chaos created in the aftermath of the war, remaining virtually anonymous and dead to everyone but each other, actively working toward </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>again. And at the end of it all, he can rest. He can make a home for himself here. He’s allowed himself to arrive at the conclusion that, aside from the bitter cold, Kleiman territory- rather, Duscur- is quite beautiful. It reminds him a bit of Adrestia, not that he’s particularly homesick for the place. Nothing about Adrestia could possibly feel much like home now. Their travels occasionally take them close to the coast, and that’s when he feels most at ease- waves gently rolling in the distance and the faint taste of salt in the air. Despite snow constantly covering a majority of the land most seasons, between the bustling cities and villages and thick forests there’s enough familiar scenery in Duscur, he could easily see it becoming as comfortable a place to settle down as any. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish you would not insist on walking.” Dedue hasn’t let the topic go since Hubert was back on his feet three weeks ago. “Your leg  will not heal properly if you push it. It’s why I agreed we bring Ystrid along in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s carrying the rest of the supplies,” Hubert waves his concerns away, pretending to continue to pore over the letter in his hands even though he’s read it twice already. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not above carrying you if you insist on being difficult.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t dare,” Hubert sneers, only half joking. Dedue laughs, choosing to drop the subject, instead turning his attention to the letter in Hubert’s hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something useful?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good news and bad. Kleiman is moving for aid,” he hums. Hubert rolls the parchment up and tucks it into his bag. “If they truly feel their circumstances are as dire as these letters let on, they’ve likely sent out more than one messenger. We may have reinforcements to deal with in the coming weeks. We’ll have to revisit our strategy once we get back to camp.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are they calling upon for assistance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mostly Faerghan nobles, from the sound of it. I can’t imagine they’d bother Claude or the new ruler of Fodlan with what they believe is a small territorial dispute. Lenore surely would have mentioned something to me were that the case. At any rate, if word reaches Claude, they’ll look weak. If house Kleiman wants to hold any sort of power in the new Fodlan, they have to maintain a front of unity and strength.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Faerghan pride,” Dedue scoffs, though the tone of his voice is conflicted. “If they did not specifically mention the other noble houses they plan to call upon, I would just as soon assume-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dedue stops walking, holding up a hand. Hubert looks at him inquisitively, but Dedue offers no explanation. There’s no need to. His eyes dart around their surroundings, searching for the slightest hint of movement as he readies his axe. Wordlessly, Hubert pulls out a tome.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A rustling in the trees is accompanied by the appearance of a cloaked figure, rushing straight for Hubert, but Dedue acts first. He intercepts the assailant’s spear attack with the handle of his axe, knocking the figure backwards. Hubert follows up the attack with a weak wind spell sending the figure crashing into a nearby tree trunk. With the cloak and hood, it’s impossible to tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>the attacker is, and while he would love nothing more than to kill the bastard and be done with it, they have to move carefully. If this unknown assailant was able to trail them after their ambush on the Kleiman messenger, it’s very possible others might come later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves closer to the figure, kneeling to remove the hood. His mind races, guessing at who could possibly have tailed them. From the letter they’ve just intercepted, it seems Kleiman doesn’t have many details about Hubert and Dedue- in fact they’re wrong on virtually all accounts. He makes a mental note to attempt to pry some sort of information out of Lenore-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-Out of the corner of his eye, he barely catches sight of the arrow flying from his right, out of a group of trees. Dedue sees it first, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him out of the arrow’s trajectory. Instead of finding its intended mark in Hubert’s chest, it hits Dedue squarely in the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, Hubert knows the arrow must have been coated with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>- a simple arrow is usually nothing more than a mere annoyance to Dedue, armor or no. He knows this from the countless times he’s spent patching up Dedue’s wounds after their risky excursions. The way Dedue’s muscles immediately freeze up, sending him crashing to the ground, is enough to launch Hubert’s heart into his throat. As much as he wants to move for Dedue, examine him, it isn’t safe. He can hear others moving in on their position, remaining hidden. Hubert takes a defensive position in front of Dedue’s body, squinting into the trees for any signs of their attackers. Time is of the essence. He can’t help Dedue until he knows they’re safe. He isn’t sure how much time he has. How much time </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dedue </span>
  </em>
  <span>has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait for long. There’s rustling in the trees in front of him, and a large cloaked figure jumps down, lunging toward Dedue. Hubert quickly releases another wind spell- strong enough to knock the assailant away, but not harsh enough to do any serious damage. Sparing the lives of people who dared stand in the way of his goals is not a habit - at least it wasn’t in the past, and he can’t say he’s particularly fond of this new practice. Especially in this instance. However,  he’s constantly reminded he doesn’t have the reputation and power he once held, and so he has to move much differently than he did in the war. This particular instance is one such painful reminder- they have no troops at their disposal, it’s simply the two of them, caught unsuspecting, and it seems their attackers have no fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds his stance, refusing to move from Dedue’s side. More cloaked figures come into view. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flames</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s entirely surrounded. Completely outnumbered and quickly running out of time. He glances down at Dedue, relieved to see his chest is still moving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One figure slowly approaches him, surveying him for a moment as though daring him to make another move. With a flick of their wrist, they motion for the rest of the group to stand down. The rest of the group obeys, lowering their weapons slightly, but not enough for Hubert to have any opportunity to attack. At best, he could take down a handful of them before getting himself killed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clenches his fists, again glancing down at Dedue who remains perfectly still at his feet, all manner of curses bubbling to his mind. He has to remind himself once more that he cannot fight his way out of his present situation, not if he wants to see Dedue get out alive. His instincts for self preservation, instincts he’d long thought dormant until very recently, kick in but he bites them back.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While murder and assassination are the fastest way to solve problems, he’s always been good at talking. His heart screams that he doesn’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>for diplomacy, but in his mind he knows it may be their only chance. Everyone has a price point, a weakness- things he’s been taught to look for and identify from an early age. Fortunately, most humans aren’t creative with their desires- money, sex, power- all fairly easy to exploit. He and Dedue have managed to steal quite a sum of money from Kleiman in their last raid- money and valuables that have been passed on as a burden for Ystrid to bear. He looks out of the corner of his eye- she hasn’t run off in the chaos of the ambush, which is fortunate.  Slowly, Hubert lowers his hand, letting his tome fall to the ground with finality. If these strangers have some sort of interest in keeping Dedue, perhaps he can work that to his favor. Clearly, the arrow was intended for Hubert, not Dedue- all he has to do is convince them to spare his life as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re lucky you found such a capable bodyguard,” the lead figure says, her voice filled with scorn. He notes she’s the only member of the group that hasn’t lowered her weapon. “You’d be dead if you were alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how right she is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not my bodyguard,” Hubert spits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? He’s clearly from Duscur. And you’re clearly a self-confident noble loaded with Kleiman goods. What else would he be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squints at him, her axe still aimed at his throat, unflinching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s… a friend,” Hubert replies slowly. Perhaps not the most accurate of terms for… whatever it is he and Dedue are, but now isn’t the grandest of times to wax philosophical about his relationship with Dedue. The band in front of him could certainly care less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A friend,” she repeats. “And what were you and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing in the woods at this hour? Surely you’ve heard rumors of the attacks on house Kleiman in the dead of night. Men hacked limb from limb, nobles choking to death drinking from what they thought were pure streams.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then it is fortunate I’m not of house Kleiman, though I don’t know how much stock I put in rumors.” Hubert keeps his voice steady. There’s an odd pang of pleasure in his chest, mixing bitterly with his current state of panic. It’s one thing to read about his and Dedue’s excursions in letters, one thing to hear about them from Lenore who treats even the smallest of scandals as devastating revelations- it’s another thing entirely to hear a complete stranger speak of their deeds. That is, assuming she’s a stranger at all- she hasn’t bothered to remove her hood and he can’t recognize her voice, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re heading out of Kleiman territory. That’s a Kleiman seal,” the leader says, jerking her chin in the direction of some of their loot. Ystrid huffs nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it is,” Hubert sighs. “But surely this isn’t the first time you’ve run into the concept of theft?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m quite familiar with it, actually,” she laughs, “It’s sort of what we’ve got going on in progress here. Though, I’m not opposed to adding murder to that list.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a proposition for you instead,” Hubert says slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re not opposed to stealing from Kleiman, then surely I’m correct in assuming you’re not allied with them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Death to house Kleiman,” she growls, spitting on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That could certainly be accomplished.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By you?” she laughs, crossing her arms against her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, not on my own, no. I’d need my companion for that. And if you and your friends truly stand by your declaration, then I think we are friends as well.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure we </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>any extra friends. We outnumber you three to one and I like my odds against Kleiman just fine as they are. I’ve not made any moves to openly antagonize them, I merely wish death upon the house and extract… taxes from travelers that pass through. What’s the sense in risking that when I could just play it safe, kill you and take whatever it is you’ve managed to loot from the bastards thus far?”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Yes, I suppose you have a point there,” Hubert sneers.</span> <span>“However, I could cut down your numbers drastically, and you’d have to go through the bother of finding </span><em><span>new </span></em><span>friends. With Kleiman on alert, that could prove difficult.” He pulls the stolen letters from his bag, offering them to the leader.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>She steps forward, taking the parchment from his hands and falls silent, her eyes skimming the content of the messages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With the rumored attacks, house Kleiman is reaching out to those with more power for assistance. While you may be comfortable with your odds now, I doubt that comfort would last when these woods are crawling with mercenaries and noble troops all banding together under Kleiman. If I could guess, none of them would be so keen on paying your little tax.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks up from the letters finally, keeping her gaze on him as she refolds the parchment and offers it back to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If Kleiman is amassing allies, shouldn’t we?” Hubert asks, tucking the letters away. “Whether you choose to openly attach house Kleiman or not, highway robbery is a risky business. You’ll need to keep your numbers up and your companions fed if you’re hoping to continue making a living off it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And so by letting you go, I gain friends in higher places?” She laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just friends,” Hubert replies coolly. “I will not pretend I have any particular power or pull within Kleiman’s inner circle,” a lie, “Nor will I beg for my life. I will happily exchange gold for it. A simple transaction, no casualties needed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s no fun,” she sighs, “But I’m afraid you’ve picked up on my desperation a little faster than I’d have liked. Very well,” the leader lowers her axe. “Since I’m feeling particularly generous, you may leave with whatever you can carry and nothing more. My friends and I will take the rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever I can carry?” Hubert repeats incredulously. “What’s the catch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a woman of my word, good ser,” she says, feigning offense. “Whatever you can carry,” she confirms, “No catch. If you can’t carry it, it stays.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert pauses for a beat, his satisfaction at the bargain quickly souring. Surely Dedue isn’t included in the ultimatum, but he can’t really take the risk. A nagging voice in his head reminds him, for what feels like the millionth time, that he can’t afford to stand around and guess. Dedue’s injuries are very real, very pressing concerns. Losing all the gold they’ve managed to take will hurt, but he can easily talk Lenore out of a few coins if needed. The money wasn’t what he had intended on taking with him anyway. Losing Ystrid will be unfortunate as well, though  mostly for sentimental reasons. Losing Dedue is the only possibility that’s entirely unthinkable- panic bubbling up in Hubert’s chest the longer he dwells on the thought. He cannot continue the assault on Kleiman on his own and would certainly lose all drive to do so without him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well,” Hubert sighs, taking a few tentative steps forward. He almost hesitates before making his next move, but he has to swallow his pride. There’s no time to change tactics or second guess. His plan of action is rather foolish and he’s mortified the thought has crossed his mind in the first place. Perhaps it’s because his nerves are frazzled as is, but he cannot think of a better, safer option.  It isn’t really in his nature to act a complete imbecile unless it comes to Dedue, it seems. At the very least, he’s fortunate Dedue isn’t conscious, sparing him from merciless teasing later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He quietly mutters a spell under his breath- surely using magic to help him carry some of the weight would be considered cheating- before digging his arms under Dedue’s stiff form. The spell is of some assistance, though in order to remain inconspicuous, it is only of very </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>assistance. He does, however, manage to stand, Dedue in his arms. Once upright and with Dedue’s weight fully pressing down on him, he realizes just how ill formed of a solution it is. Hubert isn’t truly even sure how far he can carry Dedue, someone who is several inches taller and much better built- but due to the panic buzzing in his brain, he sees no other options.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes several slow, tentative steps. If he were the praying type, now would be the time to offer up some short prayer to the goddess. Not that she would listen. If anything, his current circumstances are proof that she insists on spitting in his face time and time again. So, instead, he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, focuses on how little time he surely has left before the poison that’s affecting Dedue starts to do irreversible damage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind and body are prepared for any number of outcomes or scenarios. What he isn’t prepared for, however, is the raucous laughter his efforts are met with. He freezes, daring to look back over his shoulder. The entire party of bandits seems to have fully lowered their weapons. The leader takes another step forward, lowering her hood. Her mouth is stretched into a wide smile. Her eyes are kind… pale like Dedue’s, contrasting with her dark skin. Her silvery hair is braided.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be damned,” she says, “Now that’s not the loot I thought you’d carry off with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said whatever I could carry,” he retorts defensively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put him down before you break yourself, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she laughs. “I’ve decided we can trust you after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just like that?” Hubert scoffs, though he knows he really shouldn’t be taking such sudden fortune for granted. “Why the sudden change of heart?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not many will risk their well-being for the people of Duscur,” she says, her expression suddenly turning serious. “You’ve done that twice in the short time I’ve known you- standing up to a whole group of assailants and just now, trying to carry off your companion’s body...even though it was somewhat of a stretch in terms of what we had agreed on. We’re camped just up the road. Come with us and we’ll help your… </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she winks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to turn them down, his instincts screaming not to trust so freely, but he can’t very well make it back to their camp with Dedue in his current state. Not to mention he has no idea what really ails him. Even though he’s managed to secure his freedom, his options are limited. Reluctantly, Hubert agrees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The leader motions for some of her party to help lift Dedue- his weight is nothing in their arms. Hubert whistles for Ystrid to follow, and falls into step alongside the leader of the Duscur group, never taking his eyes off Dedue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been hearing rumors of attacks on Kleiman territory for quite some time now,” she hums, “No clear description of who, so we thought we’d come see for ourselves, maybe lend a hand. Apologies for the ambush,” she says. “We passed by a dead Kleiman messenger before we ran into the two of you. I’m assuming that’s your work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert nods.  Running headfirst into a conflict with House Kleiman with no army to speak of isn’t the wisest plan  he and Dedue have ever come up with. Though, calling it a plan is generous. While they are more organized and calculated in their efforts as of late, initially, they began with no clear path. They just needed somewhere to direct their pain and anger. They needed the thrill of something familiar and bloody, all while placating themselves with the justification that they were doing something </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>something their lords would have approved of. Then again, neither of them really intended on living much longer once they’d put the plan in motion. That was initially the point. They had spoken of no future after war with Kleiman, because neither of them pictured being around for one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Impressive,” she whistles. “Well, you’ll make more progress with friends, if you’re really willing for the help, but that’s something that merits further discussion. Perhaps we’ll visit that conversation when your friend here is up and at it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He will recover quickly, then?” The words spill out of his mouth, a little too eager-sounding for his taste, but every inch of his being is flooded with relief. “What did you coat the arrow with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brittlevine. It’s native to Duscur. Just a paralyzing agent. It takes a few hours to wear off, but beyond paralysis, it doesn’t do much,” she reassures him. “If you’d turned out to be a complete bastard, we’d have killed you and taken your friend back with us all the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert laughs, mostly out of relief- relief Dedue will recover, relief they’re alive, relief they may finally have allies after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t promise I’m not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>complete </span>
  </em>
  <span>bastard, unfortunately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She claps him on the back, a little rough, but offers a wide grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bastard or no, I think I like you. What’s your name?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would rather not say, if it’s all the same to you,” he says slowly, “It’s just that it’s safer that way. For the both of us,” he glances back at Dedue. While his and Dedue’s identity are likely of little consequence to the people of Duscur, he’d prefer their names didn’t start circling the territory. Lenore has managed to keep their identities secret, but the fewer people who know, the better. If the rest of Kleiman catches wind of their identities, the likelihood their names will be whispered higher circles increases. It’s too easy for plans to unravel.  “Suffice it to say I’m from Adrestia. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Former </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adrestia, as it were.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An Adrestian noble. How did you manage to fall in with someone from Duscur?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s… something of a long story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve got a couple miles until we reach camp,” she smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Duscur camp is larger than he’d pictured, though he isn’t really sure what exactly he should have expected. They certainly live well compared to himself and Dedue, though he imagines most people do. There are several large tents and firepits, the smell of cooking meat already drifting through the cold night air. Immediately upon arrival, the bustle in the camp is stopped as their party makes an entrance. They’re greeted by smiling faces, though the expressions quickly turn curious upon seeing strangers in their midst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pavia, the leader of the Duscur highway party, does her best to answer the questions targeted at Hubert, leaving him free to accompany Dedue to a healing tent. He waits patiently, watching as the Duscur healers wordlessly remove Dedue’s shirt, examine his wound for infection, and dress it. With their work completed, there’s nothing to do but wait for the effects of the brittlevine to wear off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pavia sets them up with a tent of their own and piles several large pelts and a quilt into Hubert’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your friend will be warmer out here by the fire,” she says, moving to drape a quilt over Dedue. “He should be able to start moving any minute now. It will be slow at first, movement doesn’t come back all at once, so be patient. I’m working on scrounging up another quilt. It’s going to be a cold night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Hubert mutters. He wraps a pelt around his shoulders and sits on the ground beside Dedue. The fire is warm, but he still shivers. He’ll never be used to how cold it is in the north.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think there’s extra food if-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-You’ve been more than kind,” Hubert shakes his head, “I’d hate to burden you further.” He doesn’t feel like eating. Doesn’t feel like sleeping. Sitting here next to Dedue is the only thing keeping his nerves from going completely haywire, and he’d like to be here the second Dedue starts moving again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suit yourself,” Pavia nods. Her tone is warm enough, but she picks up on his implied desire to be left alone. “I’ll be back with more blankets.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaves them, calling out to friends as she walks to some other corner of camp. The chatter of the other Duscur fills the night air, occasionally punctuated by loud pops from the fire. Hubert scoots closer to Dedue, watching him carefully for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The firelight dances off his handsome features, the orange glow of the flames contrasting sharply with the icy tones of his eyes, his face still frozen in a calm expression of determination. Hubert reaches forward, brushing loose strands of hair out of Dedue’s face. His fingers trace the scars that line Dedue’s face- following the jagged pale mark along his forehead, down to the scars that line his cheekbone, and finally the scars that follow the curve of his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gave me quite a scare,” he hums. He gently lifts Dedue’s head, sliding his legs underneath and letting Dedue rest in his lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though they are no longer in the middle of a war, though they are no longer marching under opposing banners, life is just as volatile, just as fragile as it once was. It is, however, easier to forget the ugliness of it all at Dedue’s side. They’ve been traveling together for months at least, if not a year now, sleeping and fighting side by side, teetering on the edge of returning to whatever they were in their past life. Yet, he never feels sure they </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>return. While they’re close in ways they never were before, there’s a distance that didn’t exist when they were students. They can’t return to the blissful, willful ignorance they shared before the war, when their lords were alive and their duty was clear. They can’t return to the thrilling days of exchanging letters and gifts hidden from the world by only a layer of loose brick in the cathedral, or kissing in secret under the cover of a blanket of stars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After leaving the monastery, fate and duty dictated there would be no future for them. Not in this lifetime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you once, if I had a second life to give, I would devote it to you,” he recalls their hushed conversation on the night of the ball. At the Goddess Tower of all places. When he’d spoken the words at the time, he’d meant them- it wasn’t some poetic confession offered up because the words sounded nice when strung together. As much as he hates to admit it, his emotions were real. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are </span>
  </em>
  <span>real. It’s the closest he’s ever come to an </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>confession despite their circumstances. And yet, now that their circumstances have changed, he still lets himself be held back, still hasn’t the courage to speak his feelings into existence, afraid of the answer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now… things are entirely changed now. Duty cannot hold them back, and fate seems determined to keep them together. Together they’ve paved a way for themselves.  And he’s chosen- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>chooses- </span>
  </em>
  <span>to walk that path with Dedue day in and day out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is it, isn’t it? My second life,” he gives a short laugh, the realization hitting him square in the chest. It’s nice to speak the sentiment into existence, even if Dedue cannot hear him. In fact, it’s probably better that way- he doesn’t have the courage to say anything with such heavy-handed intimacy. For now, he’s content like this- watching the rise and fall of Dedue’s chest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hearing </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sound of his soft breaths, the pressure of his head against his thighs, the constant reassurance that Dedue is here and real and alive. And by extension, Hubert is too. And he’s...grateful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know he can still hear and see, right, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ombrido</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Pavia interrupts his thoughts, making him jump, and he draws his hand away from Dedue like his skin is on fire. “I should have mentioned that earlier. Just hope you’re not confessing anything too serious,” she winks, “Brittlevine isn’t like your fancy southern poisons. It only takes away movement. And, like I said, even that should be wearing off soon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert can practically feel the color drain from his face, his heart thudding with a panic and sinking down to the pit of his stomach. He looks down at Dedue’s face- his expression is softened somewhat, still calm, but he blinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddess.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pavia laughs, setting down the extra blankets she promised she’d fetch, before moving on. Hubert would like nothing more than to crawl into the earth. Making a fool of himself in front of Pavia seemed to be inevitable from the start. Far worse than that, however, is the realization Dedue has seen everything. Heard everything. His idiotic attempts at heroics, his weakness for the past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances down at Dedue, wondering what emotions his expression gives away, as though he hasn’t already revealed enough of that on his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dedue tap the ground twice with his index finger. Hubert’s joy at the first sign of movement in hours miraculously manages to outweigh the embarrassment that’s made a home in his chest.  He takes Dedue’s hand, heavy in his own, trying not to think about how long it’s been since the two of them held hands like this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>touched</span>
  </em>
  <span> like this. It isn’t as though they’ve never touched since their reunion after the battle of Enbarr, of course. Adrenaline rushes have given them the courage to kiss, to touch, but never the courage to acknowledge it afterward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Pavia wasn’t lying,” he laughs darkly, pretending he isn’t completely mortified, pretending the sudden revelation that Dedue has been able to take careful note of Hubert’s every move and thought over the past several hours is something Hubert has already accounted for. “I must say it’s quite a relief. You know I don’t take kindly to being lied to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He focuses on maintaining his composure, saving face. Flames, this isn’t a conversation he’d actually wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not that Dedue can have much of a conversation at this particular moment. Though he’s sure it will come up eventually. He swears he sees the corner of Dedue’s mouth twitch. Dedue’s finger brushes against the palm of his hand. It takes him several beats before he realizes Dedue is writing out a message, tracing letters against his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Comfortable?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Promise? Your leg?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My leg is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But what about you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You tried to lift me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The corners of Dedue’s mouth turn into a full smile this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you in pain?” Hubert chooses to ignore Dedue’s jab, but his blush deepens, certain his attempts at carrying Dedue off into the sunset will be a repeated topic of conversation. For months, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span> A pause. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t need to be thanking me,” he snorts, “If anything, I owe you an apology for my carelessness. If I’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have had to take an arrow in my stead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Smooth talker.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, as I apparently have made it abundantly clear to you, I was worried. I’m just glad you’re all right. If you’ve been… awake this whole time, I don’t suppose there’s much to catch you up on. It appears we’ve finally run across a streak of good fortune. While I haven’t spoken much of our plan to fell Kleiman, Pavia and the other Duscur seem willing to help. The extra numbers will prove useful should any of the nobles decide to provide assistance to Kleiman. Not to mention now we’ll have extra blankets and food to spare, “ he laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dedue’s lips part ever so slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forgive me,” he says, squeezing Dedue’s hand. “Here I am running my mouth. Are you warm enough? I turned down Pavia’s offer for food earlier, but I’m sure I could convince her to bring more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pause. Dedue’s finger remains still, though his hand remains comfortably in Hubert’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I like it when you run your mouth,” Dedue says finally. Slowly. Quietly, his lips barely moving. The low bass of his voice sweeter than any sound Hubert has heard in his entire life. “Your lips are quite pleasant to watch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert laughs incredulously, louder than he means to. He can feel the heat spreading down to his neck and the tips of his ears. He looks nervously at their joined hands. There’s no reason for them to continue holding on to each other like this, but neither of them move to let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hubert,” Dedue says slowly, his voice pulling Hubert’s gaze back in his direction, “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dedue-” he shakes his head, but Dedue cuts him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-Please, no apologies. You risked your life for me just as willingly as I risked mine for you, and for that I owe you thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Consider us even, then,” Hubert says, earning a quiet laugh from Dedue in response. They’ll never be even, of course- Hubert owes him far too much. “I was worried I’d lose you,” he admits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You of all people should know I am not quite so easy to kill,” Dedue gives a small laugh. “You will not lose me.” He squeezes Hubert’s hand as if to emphasize his point. Hubert squeezes his hand back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is on your mind?” Dedue asks softly, observant as ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What is on his mind, indeed? For someone so cold and calculating, he notes for what feels like the hundredth time that day that he’s so easily given to daydreams. Daydreams that are all filled with Dedue. That evening, for the briefest moment, Hubert has had to face down the reality that no matter how much time he wastes in these fantasy futures, no matter how practical some of them may be or how real they may feel, they’re threatened so long as Kleiman holds onto Duscur. He’s reminded that Dedue is human, fragile, mortal, despite his intelligence and his ferocity and his earnest heart. He’s reminded that he, Hubert von Vestra, the man who threw himself wholeheartedly into this conflict because he was naive enough to believe he has nothing left to lose, actually stands to lose his entire world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As these revelations wash over him with a cold clarity, he wants to speak, wants to tread lightly into the water they’ve been afraid to dive into, wants an answer to the question he’s caged in his chest for weeks and months and years, but the words don’t come. It’s almost as though the words he’s looking for are in a language he doesn’t speak. He lets his free hand retrace the scars that line Dedue’s skin, mulling over the thoughts that are really rattling around in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I… kiss you?” he asks instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dedue’s eyes widen with surprise. Hubert instantly feels embarrassed- the question had suddenly appeared in his mind and wormed its way out of his mouth before he really had time to consider the implications. Of course they’ve kissed before, but they’ve never </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s just… happened. To request permission, to perform an action so deliberately makes it all but impossible to brush it off as an accident or a mistake fueled by a post-battle high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Dedue whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert leans down, hesitating for the briefest moment, letting his lips barely brush Dedue’s. His heart flutters to his throat when he feels Dedue lift his head slightly, barely, to close the distance between the two of them. When they kiss, he notes the hunger between them is different. Deeper. As though they’re closer to revealing the true nature of their desires, foreign and terrifying. As though with each press of skin, each sigh into each other’s mouths they’re closer to uncovering some unspoken truth. Or perhaps each kiss will speak the words they hesitate to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For now, all that matters is that Dedue kisses him back. Again and again and again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>On god I'm gonna get the deduebert tag here on ao3 to the double digits. As CEO, I swear it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>